


Stag and Canary

by That_brunette_in_red



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Dark, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Multi, One Shot Collection, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Someone Help Will Graham, Whump, Will is a Mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_brunette_in_red/pseuds/That_brunette_in_red
Summary: A collection of Hannigram one shots because I just finished the show and am craving to write it: I love the poetic style of the show
Relationships: Alana Bloom & Will Graham, Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 5





	1. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the introduction of The Stag and Canary. 
> 
> Warnings for this book: blood, violence, angst, drama, dark themes, murder, etc. 
> 
> Also fluff, smut, domesticity (to an extent) and general themes!

So obviously trigger warnings: 

Blood and violence, betrayal, manipulation, etc. 

I do not condone the actions of these characters, nor do I think it's a healthy relationship -- however I do find it fascinating, which is why I'm taking a crack at writing it!

I'm writing off of NBC's Hannibal show (2013-2015) and I'm really excited to try this :)


	3. The fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair reflect on their narrow escape and ponder what to do next.

When Hannibal pulled them both from the treacherous ocean, choking on bloodied water and strangled words, for once in his life he'd been rendered speechless. Not so much that Will threw him over -- that Will came with him. 

So, hours later, collapsing in one of Hannibal's many safehouses, Hannibal turned to a trembling Will and spoke. 

"You intended me to die," he said plainly; Will nodded once, tersely, cupping his cheek. He met Hannibal's piercing gaze. "Did you intend to drown yourself as well?"

Will said nothing for a moment, then uttered, "yes." Hannibal nodded, readjusted his own bandage, and stared out the window. 

He was... pleased? Confused, mainly, he thought with a frown. Although, with his family gone, destroyed, Will had had nothing left to live for. 

Nothing except Hannibal. 

"Why?" Hannibal asked slowly. He wanted to hear Will say it, at least once. Will took a shaky breath, cracked a watery smile as he looked down. 

"What do you think?" 

"I think this is a case of codependency and pining for the worst of the world." Hannibal's response punctured the air. He cast his eyes to Will.

"You made sure I had nowhere else to turn," Will breathed, sinking into the surprisingly plush chair, well-worn. "Made sure that it was just you and I in your perfect world."

"I never intended to throw us into the ocean." 

"The only way it could have ended." Will opened his eyes to study him, clear and bright. 

Hannibal smiled, then, small. "So now what happens? We go round and round with last ditch efforts to kill each other?"

"We're two sides of the same coin," Will mused as he studied his hands. "It wouldn't matter." Hannibal paused a moment. 

"Did you mean it?" He stared at him. "Was it truly beautiful? To take that man's life?" 

Will didn't have to hesitate before muttering "yes." He took a shaky breath, then continued. "He... killed families. Slaughtered them."

"Thus deserved to be killed," Hannibal concluded, looking at him still -- Will met his stare. 

"Yeah."

The silence was enveloping like a blanket; Will sank into it and allowed himself a moment to breathe. If either of them worried about the other trying to kill them, it was a well hidden fact. Either way, Will was too exhausted to worry about it now; Hannibal would kill him when the time was right. 

"You should rest," Hannibal commented as he stood from the armchair, keeping a hand to his stomach. Will stood, too. 

"What are you going to do?" 

Hannibal sighed -- more pained than he'd intended to. "I need to secure us this place, and make sure it's safe to remain." 

"Will you be back?" Will asked the question before he realised it, then it hit him what he said when Hannibal gave him a rueful smile. 

"Worried for my safety, Will?" He didn't give him time to confirm or deny; he read his face, and knew the answer. "I'll be back shortly. Rest."

Will watched him go, standing prouder than his injury permitted. Hannibal disappeared into the night and the urge to leave this life, never look back, flooded Will's mind. 

He collapsed on the couch, got himself comfortable and pulled a blanket over his legs. He wouldn't let his guard down, he told himself. Had to be ready for whatever scheme Hannibal had cooked up, because this was his choice: he didn't have any others. 

It was just him and Hannibal in their little world. 

When Hannibal returned to find Will half-asleep on the couch, he paused to drink in the sight -- his face relaxed, Will looked ten years younger. Beautiful. 

Hannibal moved carefully to his side, then tucked a throw blanket over his shoulders, wary of disturbing him. Even then Will shifted and blinked tired blues up at him, and Hannibal had to smile. 

"There's no need to sleep with one eye open, Will," he said quietly. "You're safe here." He stepped back, continued around the corner. 

"Hannibal?" 

He stopped in his tracks. 

"Thank you." Will's voice sounded small, even to him, and he hated himself for it -- but manners were always due. Hannibal smiled at him over his shoulder. 

"You're welcome, Will." Hannibal disappeared into his own room to leave Will with the emptiness of the air and his own spiralling thoughts. 

////

Hannibal was surprised to find Will awake before himself. It was still dark out, early in the morning, and Hannibal became even more surprised to see a bedheaded Will Graham cooking in his kitchen. 

Will. Cooking. In his kitchen. 

Hannibal rushed in to help. "If you wanted breakfast you should have woken me."

Will looked up, casually as ever. "This is my... apology," he said, plating something on the dish before straightening up, "for throwing us off a cliff."

Hannibal studied it apprehensively. Steak, toast and a heap of scrambled eggs. He accepted the plate suspiciously.

"Thank you," he said instead of the many other quips he wanted to make. Will was making amends -- Hannibal would try, too. 

"Do you think Jack will come looking for us?" 

Hannibal liked the casual use of us, he realised, especially when said so calmly by Will, looking at him in a way Hannibal can't discern. 

"With The Dragon gone and us perished at sea," he mused, twirling his fork, "I doubt he would have reason."

"Still, we should cover our tracks," Will murmured as he folded his arms, glancing out the window to the cold unwelcoming day. Hannibal would have followed his gaze -- just studied him and smiled to himself. 

"If you can think of a better way to cover our tracks than faking our death, I would love to hear it," he pointed out instead. He could almost see the gears turning in Will's mind. 

"The only real threat we have is ourselves," Will surmised and smiled at him, grimly. "Each other."

"As it should be." Hannibal focused on the food; he was surprised he didn't find it revolting. Will watched for a moment, echoes of who they used to be watching over them both like shadows -- it wasn't just Will and just Hannibal on their own, anymore -- it was Will and Hannibal who had fled to live better lives after both being assured in mutual madness. 

Will sipped his coffee. There was something beautiful in that, madness, he mused, eyeing Hannibal briefly. Something scary but beautiful all the while. 

"So," Hannibal said as he finished his meal, placing the cutlery gently down. "What do we do next?" 

Will held his piercing gaze, didn't shy away. He smiled. "We finish our design."


	4. Too far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their game of cat and mouse ends in blood and Hannibal, for once, is regretful.

For the first time in his life, Will saw Hannibal Lecter afraid. 

He hadn't meant for it to go so far. This little game of theirs, it wasn't supposed to end like this -- they chased each other around, drew blood and curses from their lips, but always, always stopped before one died. 

Hannibal had pushed too far. 

"Will? Will," he said urgently, struggling to keep a sense of calm to his words. Will lay on the ground, shaking as if seizured, grasping at his slit throat and suddenly it was Abigail, it was Bedelia, it was Will Graham dying. 

Hannibal pressed a hand to the wound, the other carding through Will's hair. Will tried to say a strangled "stop" that came out as a garbled groan that left blood spilling from his mouth. His legs moved uselessly as he tried to squirm away from Hannibal, Hannibal who had finally succeeded in killing him. 

Tears were flooding Will's eyes; blackness was flickering behind his eyelids and all he could do was stare at Doctor Lecter, urgently applying medical treatment. 

He was just a plaything, Will thought idly. He was a plaything and Hannibal was the temperamental child who had played too roughly and lost that privilege. Will knew it had to end this way; no matter what, he had been marked a dead man since the first moment he grew close to Hannibal. Trusted him. 

Loved him. 

"Will, I'm sorry," Hannibal panted. His hands were slick with blood and repulsion coursed through him. Breathing through his nose, he fought it back -- the overwhelming smell of blood, Will Graham's blood finally spilled by his hands draining into the carpet. 

Will raised a trembling hand to grasp at Hannibal's. He searched his eyes desperately, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to form words -- blood leaking with every movement. 

Hannibal couldn't hold his gaze. Tearing his eyes from Will's own tear-filled, he forced himself to focus. He would save him -- he had to save him, it couldn't end with Will staring at him like he'd hung the moon and Will himself along with it. 

"I need you to stay awake," he ordered, keeping the pressure on his cut neck, hating the way Will's eyes were fluttering closed, hating to see the tears on his lashes. 

Hannibal hated that he thought he was beautiful this way. 

Will was certainly struggling with the effort of staying conscious -- swallowing blood and all the curses he wanted to spew, he wanted to feel hatred instead of this hopeless and numbing ache. 

Do you ache for him? 

Will stared at him still, forcing himself to remain awake, close to losing the battle. Hannibal knew a rough estimate of when he would pass out from blood loss and shock, if only he could stem the stream of blood before then-- 

"Hannibal -- " The name was strangled, Will was breathing hard with the effort. Hannibal had never seen him so pale. He tried to say more, tried to say what he never could -- he was fading too quickly. His words came in a pitiful whimper, forcing his burning throat to work, to no avail.

Dying from blood loss wasn't an easy thing -- it was slow, and painful, and the last thing Hannibal would have hoped for Will. The two of them remained there on the floor even after Hannibal's legs had gone numb from lack of blood flow. 

The hitching of Will's breath every time he inhaled was painful to listen to; the words he tried to speak nonexistent and difficult to hear. When his head tilted backwards Hannibal patted his cheek, he couldn't pass out.

"No, eyes on me, Will," Hannibal demanded, unable to keep the worry from his voice this time, but Will was already drifting, lips parted uselessly, eyes fluttering closed. Hannibal's grip tightened, this had to work, he wasn't dying.

God, please, he wasn't dying.

"Will?" His pulse was fading, slowly, and Hannibal couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. 

Will wasn't breathing. 

He went lax on the floor, the fight leaving him, idly accepting his fate -- and Hannibal watched him draw his last shaky breath.

The teacup shattered and Hannibal knew there were too many pieces to pick up. 

He withdrew his hand, sticky with blood. Pressing his fingers to his lips, all he could do was stare at Will's body, his broken and bloodied body. 

Because of Hannibal. 

Once the thought would have brought him a giddy joy; the excitement of power and control, always, always in control. Now he felt drained, as if he had been the one bled to death, an aching exhaustion he had never felt before. 

Seemingly of their own accord, his hands had moved to hold him -- arm around his shoulders, one protectively over his chest. Will's head fell back with the movement, and Hannibal stared blankly ahead. There was no retreat from this, no place he could hide from what he'd done. Already his mind palace was stained with black blood; he couldn't go back there. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, motionless except to brush his fingers through his messy curls. He sat there long enough to start to process that it was his fault that Will was gone. He sat there long enough for Will's body to go cold and rigid and Hannibal still couldn't bring himself to leave. 

"This wasn't what I wanted for us," he murmured to nobody, and Hannibal Lecter was alone in his world once again.


	8. Night terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has common night terrors and Hannibal tries to think of a way to fix him.

Will? Will, look at -- Will, look at me."

Will gasped in a harsh breath, shaking violently, thrashing -- Hannibal pinned him to the bed, gripping his wrists. 

"Will."

He sobbed, trapped in his mind, sweat beading his brow and upper lip. Hannibal moved a hand to his cheek, using his body to stop his violent movements, feeling his temperature. 

Hannibal gave a sharp slap to his cheek. He jolted awake, looking around himself wildly, hyperventilating. Hannibal gripped his face with both hands, forcing him to still. 

"Will, look at me," he demanded, searching his face, eyebrows pinched. Will shook his head, shaking so badly it appears he's having a seizure more than anything else. Hannibal felt himself quickly running out of patience, but continued his efforts. 

"Do you know where you are, Will? You're home, you're with me."

"N-no-- not home, n-no -- "

Confusion flickered across Hannibal's face. It had been years since Molly and Walter had gone, years since they'd taken a tumble over a cliff and discovered that there was no ridding themself of the other. Will's night terrors still remained the same. 

"This is home," Hannibal promised. "Your home, Will."

Will propped himself up on his elbows, panting. He blinked away the images of blood, of shadow and fear and so much pain until all that remained was Hannibal Lecter sitting on the edge of his bed, scrutinizing him as if he's still his patient from a lifetime ago. 

"Home," Will said, voice trembling. Hannibal surprised himself when he moved to clutch his hands. Will stared at him that same heartbroken puppy look Hannibal had become used to over the years. He exhaled deeply, sank back into bed -- drenched in a cold sweat. 

"What did you see?" Hannibal's voice was quiet in the dawning light. Will studied him, lips quivering, and he swallowed. 

"I saw... you," he breathed. "And Molly and Walter. You killed them," he wavered, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously, "so I... killed you."

Hannibal tilted his head, unfazed. "How did you do it?" 

Will stared at him again, and Hannibal was always amazed at how quickly emotions flitted across his pale face, finally landing on heartbreak. 

"With my hands," he whispered, not breaking eye contact. "I killed you with my hands."

Hannibal drew in a breath, moved to brush damp curls off of his forehead. Will still had that helpless and abandoned look. "Well, as you can see I am very clearly not dead. It was a dream."

"I didn't want it to be," he said hurriedly and his voice cracked. "In the -- the waking moments between sleep and consciousness I'd wanted it to be true," he wavered and suddenly he could not meet Hannibal's judgemental eyes. 

"Do you feel the same way now?"

"No. No," Will murmured. His breathing still hitched every now and then -- he blinked hard. "No, now I'm just -- I'm scared."

"Will." His name came out soft; Hannibal gave him a gentle look. "There is nothing you can do to hurt me that you haven't already done."

Will looked away, wet his lips and smiled shakily. "Thanks for reminding me," he said, dryly, and Hannibal smiled. 

"I'm reminding you," he sighed, adjusting himself where he sat, "that you're not the man you were. That man is dead."

"I know." Will fully sat up, ran his hands over his face, aware of Hannibal's eyes on him the entire time. "But I still have the feeling of being that man."

"You have to let him go." Hannibal was firm in this. "There can be no healing until you've truly accepted this new world, Will."

Again, the brunet nodded and finally swung his legs carefully over the side of the bed. Hannibal cupped his cheek; Will looked at him. 

"My brave boy," he murmured. "Look what's become of you."

Will had no retort to that. All he did was allow himself to press into his hand, leave a gentle kiss against his palm before standing and moving wordlessly into the bathroom. 

The scalding water was a welcome pain; water running in rivulets that Will swore was rivulets of blood. He could almost smell the bittersweet and coppery tang as it swirled down the drain. Despite scrubbing his skin, he still felt stained.

He could hear Hannibal puttering around in the kitchen, the click of the oven, the dull thud of a pan being placed on the burner, the thud of a body hitting the floor-- he closed his eyes and rubbed his face, finally forcing himself to physically relax. 

He looked considerably better when he arrived in the kitchen. Hannibal didn't turn, knowing he'd entered purely by the welcome smell of shampoo and aftershave. "I'm glad you took my advice," he praised, meticulously plating something as Will walked up behind him. "Finally an aftershave I can stomach."

"Leaving the past behind us, right?" Hands in his pockets, Will eyed the concoction from over his shoulder. Normally Hannibal dismissed this type of intrusion of his personal space, but knowing that Will Graham was mere inches from him, feeling the heat radiating off of his skin, made Hannibal a little more lenient. 

"Crepes with caramelized pears," he spoke. A terribly simple meal, but he remembered Will mentioning once off-handedly that he enjoyed them -- especially when he knew there was no possibility of meat being forced into the meal. 

"You made me pancakes?" Will grinned at him, accepting the plate from his outstretched hand. Hannibal looked mildly offended but allowed it to pass when he acknowledged the grin on Will's face.

"Yes," he said simply as they sat in unison. 

As Will began to dig into his pancakes Hannibal eyed him every now and then, wondering what he could do to fix him. 

Will Graham was broken, Hannibal knew this -- it was his design, after all, his creation -- but this was broken in a way he could not pull enjoyment from. He sipped his coffee and considered looking into medications for him while Will picked at his food thoughtfully, the images of fluttering flies and a wall of blood crashing down around him, threatening to swallow him whole.

////

It happened again. Hannibal would have said a few choice curses aloud but uttered only a few to himself -- he was never much one for cursing, felt it improper, but when it was the fourth time that week Will Graham had woken in a panic, loud enough to rouse Hannibal, a small curse here and there wasn't unwarranted. 

"Will," Hannibal said as he resumed his position of sitting beside him. This time he noticed thin, bloody scratches down Will's arms; as if he'd clawed himself in his sleep. He gently shook him awake, trying to be cautious, trying to fight back the urge to shake him partially in frustration -- it wasn't like it was totally Will's fault, anyway, trauma could do that to people. 

Will woke once again panting for breath, and Hannibal pulled him against him, working his fingers through his hair. Will resisted briefly, then sank into his embrace with a tired groan. 

"Shh, Will," Hannibal murmured, taking a gentler approach -- more often than not that seemed to be the most helpful thing to do. He wrapped his arm more firmly around him and Will gripped at his shirt, face buried into the crook of his neck. Hannibal tried not to let that distract him as he pressed his nose against his hair. 

"Did-- did you just smell me, Doctor Lecter?" Will wavered, more so an attempt to say simply anything than a genuine question. Hannibal shifted so he could sit more comfortably, knees touching. 

"Difficult to avoid." 

Will scoffed lightly, the shaking of his muscles finally dying out until all that was left was an exhausted Will Graham. Hannibal continued stroking through his hair, continued murmuring to him until Will was almost asleep sitting up, blinking hazily at the wall opposite. Hannibal was warm, surprisingly so, and hadn't tried to stab him yet -- Will always took that as a good sign. 

"Is this helping at all?" 

Will nodded wordlessly, too tired to feel shame at cowering in his therapist's arms.

"You should try sleep therapy."

Will scoffed shakily, trying to reclaim the attitude he found comfort in. "Any recommendations for sleep therapists?" 

Hannibal moved his hand idly over his soft locks. "I happen to have the skills you're looking for." Will shrugged against him, slowly and regretfully pulling himself from his embrace to look him in the eyes, frowning, remembering all too vividly the last time Hannibal's therapy had helped him.

"I'm not sure your branch of therapy works on me, Doctor," he muttered instead of the snarky retort he'd wanted to voice. Hannibal just looked at him, then smiled his patient psychiatrist smile. Maybe not now, and Hannibal wouldn't push, but Will would cave one day when waking up with his heart in his lungs and bed drenched in cold sweat became all too much for him. 

For now, Hannibal remained holding him, until Will allowed himself to drift off, pressed lazily against the good doctor. 

"Sweet boy," Hannibal murmured as his gripped tightened around him.


End file.
